


Gifts of the Heart

by webcricket



Series: 24 Days of Christmas Advent Drabbles [18]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13117326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Prompt Date - Christmas Eve. Castiel and the reader end Christmas Eve with the promise of a fluffy Christmas morning. I’m calling this a sequel toHome is Where the Hearth Is(if you’re wondering where the bunker got a fireplace), but also stands alone.





	Gifts of the Heart

Castiel watches you from the couch, his affectionate blue gaze glinting in the firelight, candle flames, and colorful glowing string lights warmly illuminating the room as his eyes follow your frantic fidgeting movements. He’s not sitting there being unhelpful while you play Santa and finish piling presents under the gaily lit Christmas tree and stuff the boys’ stockings with treats. No, you both finished these tasks hours ago, but you’re so overexcited about the holiday, about spending it together with everyone cozy and safe in the bunker, that you can’t calm your nerves and enjoy yourself.

You’ve relocated Santa’s plate of cookies and glass of milk six or seven times, sneaking a bite of the mini sugary frosted cakes with each trip round the room to quiet your rumbling tummy and fuel your flurry. You’ve questioned whether it smells enough like Christmas in the place – the fragrances of cool pine, wood smoke, sweet sugarplum, spicy cinnamon and nutmeg thoroughly permeating every molecule of oxygen in the bunker. You’ve stacked and re-stacked the brightly wrapped gifts. You’ve paused to stoke the fire, adding new logs and painstakingly positioning them for the homeliest burn.

The angel sees you take aim at the tree and he marvels at your unyielding Christmas spirit. You appear exhausted, limbs swinging heavily, muscles sore, and yet you persist. Your chest rises and falls in a deep audible sigh and you make a beeline for the needled green boughs, intent on adjusting a crooked ornament you’ve noticed.

Cas leans forward as you pass in front of him, reaching out to gently but firmly snag your wrist.

Momentum halted, you swing to face him, meekly protesting, “Just one more minute-”

“You said that an hour ago,” he arches a brow for added emphasis.

“Has it been that long?”

“Longer.” Grasping at the other hand swinging free at your side, he pulls you to the plush cushioned couch beside him.

Suddenly aware of your aching feet, blanketed by fatigue, you concede to his physical request to sit and sink into the invitingly overstuffed pillows and loving embrace of your angel.

He draws your back flush to his chest, allowing you wiggle room to get comfortable and snuggle into him. When you settle, he circles his arms around your waist and kisses your temple. A flood of soothing grace blossoms from his lips, relaxing your muscles and lulling your senses. Nose nuzzling your hair, he breathes in the intoxicating scent of you until now obscured to him by your efforts to saturate the atmosphere with holiday cheer. Resting his chin on your shoulder, exhaled breath ghosting the delicate flesh below your ear, he suggests, “I could carry you to bed if you’re tired.”

“Hmm-no,” you hum contentedly, insisting, “not yet. Just one more minute. I’m not sleepy.” You stifle a yawn that dictates otherwise.

He laughs into your skin – or at least it’s his husky version of a laugh that is more of a distant rumble of thunder vibrating his throat and the air than an actual laugh.

You adore the rare sound. It almost always means you’re being a ridiculous human, and you delight in the amusement he derives from your willful stubbornness.

Scruff tickling your collarbone, he dips his mouth to yours to steal a quick kiss. “Everything is perfect. You should rest now so you can enjoy the morning.”

Your body tenses at the mention of morning. “Breakfast!” you try to sit up, alarmed. In all the chaos you’ve forgotten about breakfast.

He holds you fast and tight. “Dean said he would take care of it, you’ve done enough. Relax.” He smooths a palm over your hair.

Reaching back to thread your fingers through his dark locks, you peer up into his shining eyes where the flickering orange firelight dances in the blinking multi-colored bulbs of the tree and a vibrant glimmer of love reflects for you the tender blue hue. “I love you, angel,” you whisper, awed by a divine beauty that never fails to leave you breathless with your heart pounding.

His lashes flutter, focus flitting from your eyes to the lazy smile curling your mouth. “I love you too, honeybee,” he captures your lips with his, sweetly expanding upon the profound sentiment in the earnest, yearning, and slow passion of his kiss. And yet he restrains himself from expressing the full rapture of the love he feels for you, afraid of what would happen to the frailty of your mortal form if he were to wholly free his celestial heart. He pulls away when your senses begin to swim, dizzy for oxygen, and brushes a thumb across your cheek. “Sleep now,” this time he compels you to slumber before you can object. “Sleep and I’ll watch over you. Always.” He kisses your forehead.

Eyelids falling shut, your head lolls laxly to his chest.

His regard lifts from your peaceful slumbering aspect to the mantle and the pale blue stocking with delicately formed snowflakes hung there with his name drawn in winding scroll and stuffed to the brim with gifts. He briefly wonders what you could possibly have gotten him that he doesn’t already have. Because with you lying there wrapped up snug in his arms – a radiant soul with a kind and generous heart that beats steadily with unrelenting love for him – there is nothing more in all of creation the angel could possibly desire.

His fingers caress the square velvet-covered box hidden inside his coat pocket containing a single elegant blue sapphire surrounded by a halo of sparkling white diamonds and he hopes beyond hope when he asks you the question lingering in his heart tomorrow as you open this gift – his tangible promise to love you for eternity – that you feel the same.


End file.
